Burn Out
by Halfcent
Summary: One of the team has a problem. He doesn't want his friends involved or in danger but it might just be too big to handle alone. Pre-series but only by a few years. Rated K only because of mentions of violence and drugs (not used by the main characters).
1. Chapter 1 Prologue

**Prologue**

BA glared around at the people watching him while the phone rang in his ear.

Most of the men around him, the majority of them waiting for their turn at the payphone on the wall, found something more interesting than BA to hold their interest in response to his patented 'what you lookin' at' glower. Some might think that it could have been his unique hairstyle or his double-sized arms that put them off, but it wasn't. It was the fierce scowl he'd been perfecting since he was a teenager. Not many people had the backbone to meet a BA Baracus glare head on and he knew that. He used it often enough to his advantage.

Only the cop in charge of allowing phone calls and a mustached white guy with a physique to rival BA's seemed unintimidated.

The phone rang a third time and BA's knuckles tightened on the handset hard enough to make the plastic creak. _Answer the phone, Faceman._

If Face didn't pick up, BA wasn't sure he could convince the hard-ass cop to let him try a third time. And if he didn't reach Faceman soon, there was no way was BA going to get out of the holding cells before they decided to dress him out and make him a more permanent guest while they waited for fingerprint results. That couldn't happen. He'd be on a one way trip to Ft. Bragg in the back of Lynch's car quick enough to make his head spin.

BA let his aching forehead rest against the cold concrete wall. Just as the phone rang a sixth time and the cop was beginning to look impatient, the other end of the line picked up.

"Buster's Bar and Grill," answered a smooth voice.

"I need you to come get me," BA announced without preamble.

"BA?"

"Yeah, man. I need you to come get me. Fifteenth precinct on the South side. Just pay bail."

"On my way."

No time-wasting questions, and BA had effectively let Face know that there was either no need or no time for scams. Just post the bail and get him out. Questions and answers could come later and BA knew that they would.

With a sigh of relief, BA hung up the phone and looked to the hard-ass with a badge. The man's craggy face was stony. It was clear he had little regard for the men he was in charge of and BA had already observed that he valued speed and efficiency above anything, even if that meant pushing the men along with the black baton that he kept his hand on with readiness. BA had been fortunate that the cop had given in and allowed BA to try a second phone call to Face when the first had gone unanswered after several rings.

With that in mind, BA extended a nod of thanks at the man. Rather than return it, the hard-ass jerked his head at the other officer at the end of the hall in a silent command. BA stepped around Hard-Ass and traveled the short length of the hall to the officer manning the steel door. He was then ushered through the door, hearing the unwholesome clang behind him that elicited a grimace, and followed yet another officer that the was handed off to. This one led him back to the holding cell and removed his chafing handcuffs before pushing him back into the crowded cell.

BA rubbed his wrists. Seemed they didn't make handcuffs big enough to fit him comfortably anymore, if there was ever a way to be comfortable wearing them in any case. He'd never worn a pair that wasn't too tight but in the past year he'd worked hard on buffing up the that fact was doubly so. He'd protested without success when they'd divested him of his gold but now he realized it might have been the best thing. They'd have had to remove his gold cuff bracelet to get the handcuffs on and that had been a gift from Hannibal. He'd have hated to lose it. At least that way all his belongings had been recorded, bagged and accounted for, ready to be claimed when he was released instead of mysteriously disappearing because one item had to be removed.

Besides, he decided as he glared around at his unsavory cell mates, he'd probably have had to fight to keep possession of his jewelry had he been put in the overcrowded holding cell wearing any of it. BA Baracus was not one to shy away from a fight even on one of his lowest days but the odds would not have been in his favor if more than a few of the couple dozen men decided to participate. His pounding head and bruised ribs might have made it somewhat more difficult than it normally was for him, as well.

He didn't think it would take Face too long to get there and post his bail, but standing in the middle of the cell glaring around made him too conspicuous, and that made him a target if anyone got ambitious. He decided the best thing to do was relax, to the best of his ability, until they came for him. Either to let him out, or to book him more permanently if Face didn't get there in time. Looking around, he spotted an unoccupied piece of floor against the wall in the corner. Sliding down to have a seat on the cold concrete, BA had to stifle a groan. Seemed he'd take a kidney shot or two that he hadn't realized left lasting impressions until he moved a certain way. It felt bad enough that he thought he might be pissing blood for a couple days.

He was flanked by an old drunk sitting on one side that emitted the noxious odor of homelessness and vomit, and standing on his other side, hip cocked to the side as he leaned against the wall, was an overly-effeminate man wearing clothing suited more to a woman and clearly meant to show off his marketable goods. BA concentrated on trying not to breath through his nose and keeping his head turned away from said goods that were just about face-height from his position on the floor.

If his mama could see him now. BA cringed in shame at the thought.

He leaned his head back against the cool concrete and let his eyes slide closed partway. He wasn't going to relax as fully as he longed to because this wasn't the safest place for that, but the bright flickering lights were making his head pound harder. His stomach was starting to swirl just a little. The rest of his senses perked up out of conditioned habit; he'd know if anyone approached him. He'd be ready but his body wouldn't be happy about it.

It had to have been close to two hours before the holding cell opened for something other than pushing another guest in. BA had been cursing Face inwardly for a while by then, but he knew that the delay was more likely due to the inefficiency of the precinct and not to his friend's procrastination. Face would not have left him sitting in jail for long and would have been there as soon as possible. The risks were too high to screw around.

"Jakes!" the cop who'd opened the holding cell called out. "Ron Jakes!"

It took BA a couple of seconds for his aching head to remember that Ron Jakes was the name on the ID he'd been carrying most recently. Good thing Face was the one who provided the IDs, he contemplated. He'd forgotten to tell Face which name to post bail for. The team's supply officer always made it a point to remember which identification each member of the team was carrying at any given time, and for the first time BA realized that was something to be grateful for. He never gave Faceman enough credit for the things he did to help keep the team safe. He vowed to remember to change that in the future.

"That's me," BA told the officer as he pushed himself up from the floor with a groan. The chill from the concrete had seeped into his already aching body and he'd gone cold and stiff.

"Bail's been posted. Follow me to the intake desk to claim your personal items and then you're free to go."

A glance around the front lobby as he stepped out twenty minutes later saw no sign of Face. It wasn't surprising. The conman would not have wanted to spend any more time in the presence of police officers than the had to.

BA pushed through the glass doors and stepped out onto the wide steps of the police station, heavy box of his reclaimed jewelry in hand. BA took a deep breath of the clean night air, absent of the miasma of filth, body odor, vomit and other unidentifiable things that seemed to have infused every inch of breathable air inside the building. Spotting Face's inconspicuous Sedan waiting across the street and down half a block, BA went to join his friend.


	2. Chapter 2

"Still don't see why you won't take me back to my own apartment," BA complained as he followed Face into the spacious penthouse.

Face had steadfastly ignored BA's initial request to take him home to own apartment, as well as the ensuing demands. No amount of posturing or methods of intimidation had convinced the lieutenant to comply and before long BA had found himself in a neighborhood more suited to Face's fancy clothes than BA's camo-patterned pants and red sneakers.

"Because I can tell by the way you're moving and breathing that you're sore, and for you, sore means injured. And judging by that goose egg on your forehead and the way you're blinking your eyes, you probably have a concussion, too."

"I'm fine."

"I'd rather be sure. You'd do the same for me, even if I didn't want it."

That was true but BA wasn't going to acknowledge the fact. "I could call a cab," he half threatened.

Face nodded. "You could. And I could call Hannibal."

"That's dirty, man." BA glared at Face's low blow. At least that meant that he hadn't called the colonel yet.

"Sure is," Face agreed with a smug smile. "Here." He pulled a cold beer off the six-pack ring he'd carried in from the car and tossed it to BA.

BA caught it with surprise. Neither one of them was much for beer drinking. BA wasn't a drinker in general, preferring milk over anything else. Face was fast becoming a connoisseur of wines and expensive champagnes. He usually put on a snobbish front against anything that wasn't fit for crystal.

But deep down they both still had a little of that young wartime soldier they used to be. It hadn't been as long ago as it sometimes felt. Some days just called for throwing back a cold one.

Face popped the tab on his can, then carried the remaining beers to the sitting area. He set them on the glass coffee table and plopped down on the couch.

BA sighed then followed suit, opening his own beer and lowering himself gently onto the couch next to Face.

"This ain't so good if I got a concussion," BA reminded his friend before swigging down half the can with a grimace. He set the remaining down on the polished table that looked like it had never held a beer can in its existence.

"I'll keep an eye on you," Face promised. He took a healthy few swallows of his own beer then rested the can on his knee. "So what's going on BA?"

"I got arrested, that's what's goin' on."

"Yeah, you sure did. I weaseled the charges out of the desk officer, too. Assault and battery. Disturbance of the peace. Arson. Really, BA? That's not you. Something's happening with you. What is it?"

"Nothin' I can't handle," BA maintained stubbornly.

"Uh-huh," Face answered doubtfully and followed it with a more mannerly sip of his beer. "Well, you got out on bail but there will still be charges."

"I know how bein' arrested works, Faceman."

"Unless you plan on going to court and facing those charges, and probably paying for them, and even more likely ending up in Lynch's hands when they realize who you really are, Ron Jakes no longer exists. At least not the Ron Jakes with your face. That identity is done. I'll have you a new one by tomorrow night."

BA regarded Face for several moments, unsure what to make of his teammate's rare behavior. It wasn't that the two of them had never had a deep conversation or honest interaction. It was just that sincerity was becoming a rare thing to see on Templeton Peck of late, even for the three closest people in his life.

The con man had become so accustomed to putting on a show just to get by from day to day that BA thought maybe he'd forgotten how not to. Sincerity was a good look for him, though. It reminded BA of the Templeton Peck he'd met years ago when they were both younger and brasher. Before Peck had become Faceman and learned to live up to the expectation of his nickname.

"Why ain't you called Hannibal?" BA asked curiously. He'd have thought that was the first thing Face would do after receiving BA's call from jail. Had their roles been reversed, that might have been BA's first step. Being arrested was a serious screw-up, and a dangerous one. Face would have had no reason not to call Hannibal so the Colonel could handle any fallout, should there be any. For all they knew, they might have had to stage an escape.

"Why didn't you?" Face returned with a raised eyebrow.

BA unconsciously raised a hand to run over the back of his mostly shaved head. He let chagrin show on his face. "You know why." Because the colonel would rip him a new one, that was why.

Face nodded absently. "He'll find out. He always does. Somehow. But it won't be from me unless...well unless there's a good reason."

"Fair enough. Thanks, man."

"Don't thank me yet. You know as well as I do that it's just gonna make things worse from here on out. But it's your call to make and it's your ass on the line if you don't make it."

"I'll keep you out of it."

"I'll own my part in it," Face promised. "But we'll worry about that when the time comes. You plan on cluing me in as to what happened tonight to put you in jail?"

"No," BA said simply and he meant it.

It wasn't anything he wanted the team messed up in. It was too close to home, on their own turf, and that could make things uncomfortable. BA had let his rage take over and send him to do battle in a war that couldn't be won. The small victory he'd scored tonight was one small mark against a sea of points won for the other side. BA couldn't win. No one could. But he could leave his mark sometimes. Somewhere. BA Baracus couldn't change the world but maybe he could do enough to make a difference for one person at a time

* * *

BA was up early the next morning. The large bump on the right side of his forehead radiated pain into his face. His headache still lingered, his eyes still a little sensitive. Concussed for sure. Nausea had passed by the time he'd fallen asleep on the couch and was no longer present, so it was a fairly mild concussion. Five minutes after waking he discovered that his prediction about pissing blood was right on. Bruised kidneys.

After a night of sound sleep, his rib cage had grown ultra-sensitive and the bathroom mirror reflected back the hot swelling when he lifts his shirt to check. It hurt to move. Bending down to tie his shoes had been an act of torture that resulted in his shoelaces tucked into the sneakers rather than tied. There had been no broken skin and he didn't feel any interior shifting. That was a good sign. It probably meant that no ribs were broken. They were definitely badly bruised and possibly fractured so best to take it easy if he could.

Almost seven am. Rather than waiting until he got home to make his morning check-in call to Hannibal and running late with it, he decided it would be best to make the call fifteen minutes early from Face's place before he left. Making the call early meant that he interrupted either Hannibal's breakfast or his morning workout, but BA didn't care. The colonel was the one who'd put the requirement in place and reprimanded if a call was more than five minutes late. He could deal with the inconvenience.

The call was quick and efficient out of habit. No niceties required. All Hannibal needed was to hear a good morning so he knew they'd made it through the night alive and free. BA wasn't about to tell him otherwise until he had the energy for his defense.

No one would be foolish enough to call BA Baracas a coward but even BA knew which lines to toe with Hannibal. This was one of them. He'd crossed a line by choosing actions that had resulted in him being arrested, a high-risk predicament for any of the team. It not only risked himself but the rest of the men. Hannibal would find out eventually; BA might even tell him himself. It wasn't in his nature to be deceitful or to keep things from their CO. He just didn't have the energy to face the stiff lecture he knew would follow.

Digging a day-old store receipt from his pocket, BA used the back of it to scribble a note to leave for Face letting him know he'd left for home. He locked the door when he left.

He hadn't bothered to call for a cab. He probably wouldn't have found one that would have willingly picked him up in the posh downtown neighborhood and driven him deep into the Southside. Instead, he caught a cab from the street. It took him a little while. It always did. One would think his look intimidated people or something.

His blunt method of hailing a taxi was usually to find one with their on-duty sign lit up and jump into the back seat before giving the driver a chance to turn him down or drive away. It worked as well that time as it always did and before long BA was well on his way into his own neighborhood where he didn't stick out so much and was able to blend in much more comfortably.

BA was pleasantly surprised to find his van in his usual parking spot. Face had worked his magic and had it home brought home from the center where it had been left the afternoon before. At least he wouldn't have to take another cab ride.

BA made quick work of a shower in his apartment and was soon behind the wheel of his own van and on his way to the youth center. It was going to be a rough day there. He needed to be there.

Pulling up, BA looked across the street from the youth center to the half charred house. Anger boiled in his gut. Even with part of the house as nothing more than blackened remains, they were back. Standing on the cement porch in a tight knot, a few guys glared across at the van. No one made a move to approach, though. Three of their usual number were missing, probably in the hospital, and most of those glaring at BA sported obvious injuries.

BA smiled grimly at that. If nothing else, at least they had reason to believe he was serious. A few hours in a holding cell was well worth it. His bruised knuckles were a small price to pay for the pleasure of taking a few of them out. The concussion, ribs and kidney shots were a higher price but still, nothing BA regretted.

The door to the center was already unlocked. The director and two of the employees were already there. BA could see them shaking mournful heads at each other through the glass of the office windows in the corner.

They'd already gotten the news, then. BA took a deep breath, ready to play dumb.

"BA!" Sheryl, the director, called from her office and gestured for BA to join them. "BA, we have sad news."

"What sort of sad news?" He looked back and forth between Sheryl and the other two, hoping the concern on his face was realistic.

"It's Lenny," Rick told him solemnly. Rick was a portly middle-aged white man who often worked with BA on the sports programs. He knew that BA knew exactly who Lenny was. "Someone found him here last night, right at the door, outside. He was in bad shape. Drug overdose."

_ Whites of eyes, foaming mouth_

"Only twelve," Sheryl shook her head. Linda, the other woman in the room, had yet to speak but she wiped tears from her face that fell harder at Sheryl's words. "Someone took him to the hospital but he didn't make it."

_ Shaking body, gasps for air. Bloodless face._

BA no longer had to feign his reaction as nausea welled up.

_ So light, so easy to carry. Afraid to wait for an ambulance._

Too much poison in too small a body.

_ The doctor's practiced mournful expression. The feel of a haggard mother's clutch as she screamed._

The only thought that had consumed BA for a while after that was to eradicate the poison suppliers and their den.

_ The headlong rush. No memory of the drive. Leaving a crying mother in the__ cold, white hall to satisfy a growing flame of anger._

BA felt sick now. Maybe it was the concussion. Maybe it was the rage. Maybe it was knowing that the assholes had spent less time in jail than he had the night before and were already back and ready to do more business, filling the veins of kids with their addiction and death.

"BA, you're not looking so good," Linda finally spoke with a sniffle.

"You okay?" Rick asked. He pulled out a chair. "Maybe you should sit down for a minute."

"It's a shock to all of us," Sheryl soothed, laying an awkward hand on BA's shoulder.

_Not to me_, BA thought. He'd seen it. He'd been watching. He'd been cautioning the kids, playing interference, warning the dealers that were targeting the youth center's innocent visitors.

Then the worst. BA had come back late one evening, shortly after they'd closed up and sent the last kid home. He'd forgotten something in the office he needed for a fund-raiser he was putting together so they could re-roof the center.

He'd seen Lenny on the porch of the ramshackle house across the street. The boy had a thick rubber band tight around his arm while one of the losers – the one that always wore a bandanna on his head, BA remembered – held the needle that was in the crook of Lenny's elbow.

BA stumbled to the office chair as the memory hit him almost as hard as the first sight of it had. He leaned his head forward, quickly losing his composure as his stomach began to twist. Someone had the foresight to grab a wastebasket and push it under his face.

BA had tried to help Lenny after that, but they had their hooks in him. Lenny was a casualty of the neighborhood; parents that either didn't care or who couldn't afford to spend so much time worrying about what their kids got up to on the streets. He'd been coming to the youth center since he was seven or eight, BA remembered. Practically grown up there. Lenny was one of the first kids BA met when he started volunteering at the center. He was one of the few that had the potential to make it out someday if he kept going the way he'd started.

After that day, Lenny was seen on the porch more and more often and spent time at the youth center less and less. Sometimes he held his needle himself. He adopted a swagger that emulated some of the older boys and men that hung out there all day. It wasn't unusual to pass him on any corner in the neighborhood and see him slyly handing packages off to buyers. They'd reeled him in good, without a doubt. One day he showed up to the center wearing new shoes and an expensive watch. Instead of jumping in to play baseball or basketball as he would have before, he began trying to recruit his peers. He started throwing around stories about how much money he made and all the expensive gifts they gave him. He flashed wads of bills and made doping up sound like a trip to Candy Land.

BA talked with him. He'd tried explaining to him the dangers of drugs and the people he was beginning to spend all his time with. He'd pleaded with him. Offered to help in as many ways as he could think of. Even threatened to ban him from the youth center if he was going to be a risk to the other kids. All of it to no avail.

And then last night….

BA knew exactly who was to blame.

His stomach lost its fight and BA heaved into the plastic trash bin in front of him. He didn't have the energy left for humiliation as the other three in the room turned away awkwardly.

He wasn't sure he had much of anything left at all.

* * *

BA didn't stay. Sheryl insisted that he go home for the day and BA wasn't of a mind to argue with her. His reaction had surprised even himself and he wondered if maybe he was worse off than he'd thought. It had been a while since anyone had gotten the upper hand in any sort of fight against him but he'd been alone up against several men. He'd known that when he'd charged into the house the night before. He hadn't cared. He still didn't. He'd still come out better than most of them had. His only regret was that he hadn't taken down more of them and that the house was still mostly standing.

He let himself into his apartment to find Face with his feet up on his scratched up coffee table and BA's TV remote in his hand. He didn't stop flipping through the channels when BA walked in.

"What you doin' here?" He'd thought he might lay down for a nap. That wasn't something he was accustomed to indulging in but the way he was feeling, BA thought it was about the best he could hope for the day. Apparently that wasn't to be.

He hoped they didn't have a job. BA didn't think he was up to that.

Face ceased in his channel surfing and tossed the remote to the wooden table with a thunk. "Our illustrious commander has requested your presence post haste," he answered sarcastically.

"He knows," BA deduced on a sigh.

"The morning news," Face confirmed, dropping the sarcasm. "It was the top story, apparently. Not a lot of specifics, just a couple of nice, clear shots of your face while being arrested-" Face held his hands up in mimicry of framing a video shot "- and then a list of the charges. They identified you as Ron Jakes, at least. No one has made the connection yet to the real you. Except for Hannibal, of course."

"Why he didn't come himself?" BA wondered.

"He tried to reach you here," Face answered. "Got no answer. Called the youth center and they told him you'd left for the day for personal reasons." Face peered at BA for a moment before continuing, as if wondering what those personal reasons might be. "Guess he just missed you."

"Guess so."

"Well, he was already pretty irritable. Lost patience. Thereby ordered yours truly to find and deliver you within the hour."

"Guess we better, then," BA agreed reluctantly.

"And sooner rather than later." Face stood from the couch and reached for the suit jacket that was thrown over the back. He swung it over his shoulder casually. "My hour is almost up. While it might be interesting to see if the top of Hannibal's head really will blow off if he gets mad enough, I don't want to be the one to clean up the mess."

BA sighed as he followed Face back out of the apartment.

"Digging the new hairstyle, by the way," Face complimented. BA couldn't tell if his friend was being sincere or sarcastic. "What made you decide to get a Mohawk?"

"Ain't no Mohawk," BA grumbled as he shut the door behind him.

It was going to be a long day.


	3. Chapter 3

"Assault and battery?" BA tried not to flinch when Hannibal speared him with a fiery gaze. "Disturbing the peace? Arson? _Arson_, BA? For God sake! What the hell were you thinking?"

"I-"

"Save it, Sergeant," the colonel snapped, no-nonsense leaking from every pore. BA's back straightened in habitual response. He wasn't quite at attention but he wasn't far from it. Apparently the question had been rhetorical. "There's nothing you can say to convince me you had a good reason for this. You got _arrested_. For deliberate arson You put men in the hospital. That kind of thing brings attention."

"Hannibal -"

"I said _save it_."

BA's jaw tightened but his eyes found the floor. Hannibal's words had been thrown like stones but his last order had delivered the sharpest sting. BA hadn't heard that tone directed at him in years. Hannibal's angry words had started out laced with disappointment, fear, concern. Not easy to take but nothing more than he'd expected. But that last sentence, snapped harshly, had been acid.

There were circumstances in which BA, the head-strong sergeant with a temper, the man who had been known to dislike officers in 'Nam, and one of Hannibal's friends and team members of several years, would not have hesitated to argue with Hannibal. Possibly even make a demand or two. At the very least, explain himself. It wasn't always easy for friendship and formality to co-exist, but the team made it work. Hannibal was only the Colonel when he needed to be, and that might vary by degrees.

This was not one of those circumstances, and Hannibal had set the tone from the moment BA had entered the apartment. All it took was the long familiar expression in the steely eyes, the set jaw and rigid stance for BA to know that this wasn't going to be a friendly chat. This was the face of his pissed off CO.

BA kept still and silent, waiting for more recriminations. They were no more than he deserved. BA hadn't let loose on another human being like that in years. Always the team's muscle, now stronger and bigger than most people he encountered daily, BA had been forced to learn a modicum of restraint early on. He was known for his temper and his bad attitude and he wasn't above using intimidation, but he'd long since learned to rein in that part of him that lost complete control. Even when he was bouncing heads and pounding faces for the team, even when he was in the middle of a temper, there was a part of him that was thinking ahead, pulling back emotion, always mindful of how bad it could get if he wasn't careful to hold back the majority of his strength and anger. And whenever even his own strict control began to get a little frayed, Hannibal was usually there to reel him in.

The previous night he'd had neither and he'd been glad for it at the time. He'd thrown away any control in favor of teaching the dope dealers and kid killers a lesson and not one of his three trusted friends to pull him back. He hadn't felt that way since 'Nam. It was freeing and surreal but the aftermath left an oily, bitter taste at the back of his throat that wasn't so different from the expulsion of vomit he'd expelled earlier that morning. It scared him, if he was perfectly honest with himself. It scared him and it disgusted him.

What scared him the most, though, was that any time he thought of Lenny or the bastards in that dope house, that rage boiled right under the surface, waiting for one small thing to make it blow. He _wanted _to do harm to those people. He _wanted _to hurt them, to feel their bones crunching under his fists. He wanted to give them a reason to be sorry they'd fed poison into the blood of a child, because they sure didn't have any regrets for the act itself.

The next onslaught of expected recriminations didn't come. BA lifted his eyes to see that Hannibal had moved to the large bay window that overlooked the beach. The sunlight spilled through the window, filling the room with a cheery morning glow that could only be accomplished in Southern California. The colonel stood with his back to BA, hands on hips, as he stared out. His spine was rigid and his shoulders set and in the window's reflection, BA could see that Hannibal's face was set in hard lines.

_When did all those lines get there_? BA wondered. When did his hair start adding silver in it's trademark white? How many of those lines, those silver hairs, were put there by the colonel's fears and worries over his men? How many of them had BA put there?

"Hannibal..." BA paused, half expecting to be snapped into silence again. When no reprimand came, he continued. "I'm sorry," He said softly. BA ventured a few steps toward Hannibal's position at the window. The other man's stance never relaxed. If anything, BA thought that maybe he'd gone a bit more rigid. His eyes, though, from what he could see in the reflection, now superimposed over BA's own...BA thought that maybe his eyes had softened just a bit. Maybe.

"Sorry isn't gonna keep your ass out of prison if you draw attention to yourself with stunts like this, is it, Sergeant?"

Okay. Maybe not.

"I didn't mean for it to go that far." BA kept his tone soft. Gruff was his default and he didn't want any miscommunication.

"No?" Hannibal turned to face him and BA took a step back. Not even BA cared to be too close to Hannibal's wrath.

The colonel walked to the bar top separating the kitchen and opened his humidor for a cigar. Using a silver cigar clip, he took a moment to clip the end then light it. A much more mannerly method than the usual bite and spit he used in the field. "How far, exactly, did you mean for it to go?" He filled the room with smoke while he waited for an answer.

"I...I didn't...I wasn't really thinkin' like that, Hannibal," BA stumbled. A weak defense but no less true.

"You weren't thinking at all."

That was true. BA just sighed and gave a small nod in agreement. He couldn't argue the point and there was no use in trying.

"Why'd you do it, BA?" Hannibal asked. His voice had softened the tiniest bit and held a note of perplexity.

BA sighed again. Hannibal was still in command mode but less angry, willing to listen now that the worst of the reaming was over with. Problem was, BA wasn't sure what to tell him. He still didn't want the guys involved. It was too close to home. If things didn't work out as planned, it could very well mean forcing them out of LA. What were they gonna do? Wage a war on the very rampant drug problem in the city of Los Angeles? Every gang member? Every big-time drug organization using their docks? Every mob connection with their hands dipped in? Every random street hood and two bit Joe wanting a profit? There was no end.

"I just lost my cool, Hannibal, tha's all."

"Really." Hannibal's cool gaze settled on BA. "That's all, huh?"

"Tha's all," BA repeated, meeting the steady eyes of the colonel. "It won't happen again. I promise."

Whatever Hannibal was thinking, he decided to let it go, to BA's relief. Hannibal's eyes narrowed calculatingly but then he gave a small nod, acknowledging BA's plea for privacy in the matter.

"See that it doesn't." Hannibal's words were hard as steel and his eyes matched.

BA swallowed, his throat suddenly almost too dry to utter the phrase rarely said since they'd been on the run. "Yes, sir."

"Now let's take a look at that bump on your head, BA," Hannibal gestured, less serious. "Face said you have some injuries. While we're taking care of that, we'll talk about the consequences of last night."

BA sighed in resignation at Hannibal's suddenly cheerful grin on his way to sit at the bar stool the cigar indicated.

Nothing cheered the colonel up quicker than coming up with ever more complicated and devious obstacle courses to challenge his men with. If it was disciplinary they could count on Hell on Earth.

* * *

Hannibal relit his cigar as he watched the apartment door close behind his sergeant. He'd let BA go with breakfast and orders to report for the obstacles courses in forty-eight hours. He'd also let him go without forcing an explanation but that didn't leave Hannibal with a good feeling. Something was going on with BA, that much was clear, and it was disturbing on a few levels.

BA's behavior the night before was completely out of character. Temper tantrums? Sure. Displays of anger? That's what BA was known for. But to bust into an inhabited house with the intent of harming the residing individuals, and then to set the house on fire – possibly with people still inside? That wasn't BA.

What had instigated BA to take such action to begin with? And furthermore, to disregard his years of ingrained training and go into a potentially volatile situation not only without backup but without even informing any of them what was going down? None of that was BA. Something drastic had happened to cause it and it was something that put BA's well-being at risk.

Hannibal couldn't have that.

He chewed thoughtfully on his cigar, then took a puff and let it out slowly. He stood up and grabbed the phone on his kitchen bar, then dialed a familiar number and waited for the other line to pick up.

"Face?" He said when he got an answer. "I have a job for you."

* * *

BA dragged himself back into his apartment for the third time that morning. He was now sporting a white bandage over the bump on his head. His ribs had been iced down and his knuckles had been slathered with salve and wrapped, followed by orders to leave them that way at least until the next morning. He'd been filled with aspirin, a glass of milk and breakfast but he couldn't really say he felt better for all the basic care Hannibal had insisted upon before letting him leave. The head bandage itched and his head still ached, the Aspirin too recent to have done it's job yet. The wraps on his knuckles felt constricting, his ribs ached with every breath and the breakfast of bacon, eggs and toast was not sitting well on his stomach.

All BA wanted was a nap. To lay down and forget last night, stop thinking about Lenny, calm the boiling rage that heated up each time he thought about the dopers. Refresh himself from the headache and the tongue lashing and hopefully wake somewhat refreshed.

Choosing to forego the bed in his tiny bedroom, BA instead lowered himself gently onto the couch, laying himself out and wiggling in until he found a comfortable position. He turned the TV on with the remote and flipped through the few channels until he found something suitable to lull him to sleep. No football games on at 10:30 am on a Tuesday, so he settled for a morning talk

show interviewing one of his favorite players. It didn't take him long to drift off to the low droning of the TV.

He woke to the ringing phone. BA sat up, disoriented for a moment, groggy and with a sleep hangover. He was gratified to note immediately that the severe headache had died down to something more bearable. It was still present but the edge, and then some, had been taken off.

"Yeah," BA answered gruffly into the phone.

BA rarely got calls other than the team or someone he worked with at the youth center. He didn't bother with the cloak and dagger phone greetings that Face and Hannibal enjoyed. It was necessary for them; they got calls all the time from strangers and had to vet callers and sift through those that were legit contacts or prospective clients from those that might be people they didn't want to hear from. Unless one of them handed the task down to him temporarily, that was their job, a fact that BA didn't bemoan. He had no patience for it and he was much less of a people-person..

"Hey, big guy!" Murdock's cheery voice exclaimed from the other end. Did that man ever do anything without extra energy? BA wondered.

"Hey, fool," BA responded without his usual enthusiasm at quelling Murdock's energy. He didn't have it in him to put on the façade of displeasure he usually displayed when dealing with his pilot friend..

"How are you?" There was real concern in Murdock's voice, undisguised. "I heard some very strange rumors this morning about a guy I know by the name of Ron Jakes. It was on the morning news. I didn't see it myself but it was the talk of the loony bin all day from those who did see it. Doc even asked me about it at our appointment this morning. Guess he recognized you."

"I'm fine, Crazy Man." BA's nickname held no rancor; rather, a tinge of fondness that he might deny if anyone called him on it later.

"What happened, BA?" Murdock was all seriousness now. "I called Face as soon as I heard, and I saw the noon reports replaying the basics of the story-" BA glanced at the clock to discover it was after four pm. He'd slept all day. "- but he wouldn't give me any details."

"I didn't give him any, is why," BA growled. "Ain't no details to worry 'bout, Murdock."

"Uh huh," Murdock grunted disbelievingly. "Well, I was gonna call you earlier, Muchacho, but Face said it wouldn't be a good idea. He said you were with Hannibal and it probably wasn't a good conversation."

BA snorted. "Not the greatest," he admitted.

"Really pissed, huh?" Murdock deduced with sympathy.

"Somethin' like that."

"_Exactly _like that." Murdock chuckled knowingly. They'd all been on Hannibal's bad side more than a couple times. "Obstacle course?" He guessed.

BA nodded even though Murdock couldn't see him. As soon as he healed he was expected to pay for his actions.

"I'll be runnin' till my legs fall off." BA let a little humor show in his voice. It wasn't truly funny but if anyone could empathize with being on Hannibal's shitlist and a disciplinary obstacle course, Murdock was one of the other two who could and it always helped to be able to laugh about it. As long as the colonel couldn't hear.

"Well, just remember to take off all that gold, Muchacho. That will really weigh you down. You might drown in the pit," Murdock joked back.

"Shut up, fool," BA countered without anger.

"BA...whatever's going on, remember that we're here, okay?"

BA took several moments to respond. Only their breathing informed the other that they hadn't been disconnected. He considered, for one quick moment, confiding in the pilot and swearing him to secrecy. But no. It wouldn't be fair to put Murdock in the middle. Murdock would also be too tempted to try to help and that could put him in danger of getting too involved.

Murdock waited patiently, his breaths even. BA could hear the background noise on Murdock's end and thought that maybe it sounded like the patients of the VA were being urged to prepare for dinner time. There was a momentary loud scuffle with bangs that sounded suspiciously like a fight, a couple of angry screams, and then the stern voice of what had to have been an orderly or male nurse breaking up whatever had happened.

"I'll remember," was all BA answered in the end.

Another crash, this one louder and seemingly closer than before, caused BA to wince as the pain in his head spiked at the auditory intrusion.

"What's all the noise, man?" he asked irritably.

"Oh, that. That's nothing. It's just a couple of the resident cuckoos protesting the green jello with dinner. Red jello they can handle. The green jello reminds them of their home planet. It makes them restless."

BA shook his head. He didn't know how Murdock could take that place sometimes. But then again...Murdock's behavior didn't often seem to be too much more drastic than anyone else he'd describe in the place. BA couldn't help wondering, though; was the pilot there because he was crazy, or was he crazy because he was there?

"Ain't you usin' your own phone in your room?" BA knew for sure that Murdock's personal line, somehow arranged by Face not long ago, rarely picked up any of the ruckus happening outside of Murdock's own room.

"Nah," Murdock muttered, and BA perked up a bit. There was something in his friend's tone that BA couldn't put his finger on, but it bothered him. "I'm on the pay phone near the mess hall."

"Why you on the pay phone, fool, when you got your own?"

"We've got a new head nurse for the floor and she came complete with a couple of new hard ass orderlies that seem to be at her beck and call. The jerks yanked my phone. She wants me to start falling in line like the other drugged patients here. Doesn't like it that I think," Murdock added almost bitterly.

"They givin' you a hard time?" The idea concerned BA. Westwood VA hospital was one of the best around, but it was still a government run medical facility with overworked and underpaid staff dealing with difficult jobs. Murdock had endured his share of abuse from some staff and the occasional resident, in the early days, and still sometimes had to fend off things that the rest of them couldn't quite understand. He lived in an environment that the rest of the team couldn't relate to and, BA admitted, he probably did it better than any of them would have.

Murdock coped with all manner of fellow mental patients and the various approaches of the constant flow of staff. Some were easier than others, and there were rules in place that Murdock often flaunted. Some staff were more lenient or accepting of the harmless captain's antics while others seemed to feel that keeping every patient robotically in line was their mission statement.

"Nothin' I can't handle, big guy," Murdock promised. "It'll be fixed soon. It just happened this afternoon and Richter left for a two week vacation right after my appointment this morning so he can't intervene till he gets back."

"Alright, man, if you say so."

BA had always thought it a stroke of luck that they seemed to have Dr. Richter on their side – for the most part and quite discreetly – concerning Murdock, his association with the team, his frequent absences from the VA and the somewhat elite privileges that few other patients were allowed. Privileges that were usually provided by the team or arranged by Face but not interfered with. Usually. Every now and then staff with questionable ethics would appear. Those such people generally ended up with an unexpected termination or sudden transfer, happily arranged by Face with his bag of tricks.

Despite Murdock's assurances, BA figured he'd better clue in Hannibal and Face in case it needed to be looked into. If nothing else, Hannibal would need to know that they couldn't reach Murdock through his private line should they need him.

A few more moments of random conversation and Murdock rushed off to dinner, leaving BA alone. He didn't have much of an appetite himself so he decided to skip dinner and do what enjoyed doing the most. He had a friend's car stowed away in his garage a couple blocks away waiting for repairs. The carburetor was giving BA a little trouble and some mechanical tinkering was just what he needed to distract himself from the shit-storm of the past 12 hours.


End file.
